SackLunch
Team Captain
- Apr 16, 2016
- 389
- 934
- AFL Club
- Melbourne
Captain’s Log
Round 1 2123
Round 1 2123
The times have been dark, no doubt. The days of footy being played in front of tens of thousands are years past: decades, perhaps a century. We are more or less Amateurs now. Still, we play and compete and old rivalries are born anew.
We Demons prepare for our season opening encounter vs. the Bulldogs in the now traditional manner of a piss-along prior to the match. At the Captain’s table I am joined by my right-hand man, No. 7, and our opposites of the Dogs: Bonty-kun and Ms. Jackson.
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Run, Run as Fast as You Can
Gawnless leans back and stretches his long limbs in a clear sign of good health and humor. One cannot see his lips through his immense bush but can sense a tingle of mischief about them.Run, Run as Fast as You Can
‘Well Bonty, how was the summer? Bit of fun, What?’
Bonty-kun rubs his large, rather red, protuberance and observes with somewhat less good humor, ‘Hot as buggery in Ballarat. I bloody envy youse in your fully-enclosed Casey stronghold.’
Ms. Jackson, barely audible, passes comment.
No. 7, very much audible, says, ‘What? I begs pardon Ms. Jackson. I can’t hear it!’
Bonty-kun is attuned to his vice’s peculiarities. ‘Ms. Jackson says youse are looking very fit and I must agree.’
‘Yes Bonty. Goodman No-Shoes has us in tip-top shape,’ Gawnless says.
‘Where are his shoes anyway?’ Bonty-kun asks.
Gawnless leans forward confidentially. ‘Goodman has a habit of losing things. Money. Shoes. Sometimes even the shirt off his back.’
Bonty-kun and Ms. Jackson share an odd glance. ‘Shirtless eh? That we can understand.’
Gawnless brightens. ‘Still, it’s all in good fun! And what of your man, Hot Beveridge? Must he be caged like that?
‘Yes. Safer for everyone,’ says Bonty-kun sternly.
No. 7 has the manner and temperament of an overly enthusiastic 10 year-old. ‘I’m not scaried never but I heard some of youse are right scaried of him!’
Ms. Jackson, disgust written in every pore, mumbles indistinctly.
Gawnless ***** an ear. ‘Apologies, Ms. Jackson, I didn’t quite…’
Bonty-kun assists once again. ‘Ms. Jackson said Cape Schache is so afraid he hasn’t been seen in weeks’
Gawnless is thoughtful. ‘I say Bonty, if the lad would feel safer with us, we would happily take him?’
‘Maybe that would be for the best. Hot Beveridge might do him a damage if he sees him again,’ Bonty-kun replies.
‘Kind of you, Bonty. We accept,’ Gawnless says airily. ‘And now, where is that grog? Didn’t one of your chaps go to fetch some?’
‘Yes! The Huntsmen did!’ Bonty-kun addresses the group en-masse, ‘Where is that damn fool?’
The one they call Ad-Libba rolls his eyes, convulses, and falls to the floor. ‘I have located him Captain,’ he says tremulously, eyes like saucers. ‘He has crashed the drinks cart thrice-wise. He is very drunk Captain.’
‘Bloody blast him. We’re all sick to death of him,’ Bonty-kun growls.
‘Well Bonty, he may be a better fit at the Demons. Even our man No-Shoes likes to join us at the hotel for some ale,’ Gawnless suggests.
‘Fine, fine,’ says Bonty-kun testily. ‘Take the blasted sot.’
Gawnless raises his glass in acceptance. ‘I must say, your man Ad-Libba has quite a talent.’
‘He bears the birthmark of the yellow man. He is a seer.’
‘I, er, see…’ Gawnless says awkwardly.
Ms. Jackson, cheeks coloring, leans over and whispers into Bonty-kun’s ear. ‘Too right, Ms. Jackson, too right,’ Bonty-kun says firmly.
‘Something the matter, Bonty?’
‘Ms. Jackson says we’ve given over two of our blokes, so how about a little something, you know, for the effort?’
Gawnless is untroubled. ‘What do you suggest?’
‘Ms. Jackson is partial to your red-headed folk. Which one Ms. Jackson?’
Ms. Jackson is urgent, fierce. ‘The ugly one!’
‘I regret, Ms. Jackson, it is impossible,’ Gawnless says. ‘He is our Club Champion. And besides, he is infected…’
Bonty-kun is cautious yet curious. ‘Infected?’
‘He has the dropsy. Sometimes, at the merest touch, he drops straight to the ground.’
No. 7 is shaken. ‘Tis the only thing I’m afeared of. Tis the Demon Spirit! A wretchit, cursit thing!’
‘And you, Gawnless, have you been infected by this “Demon Spirit”?’
‘Perhaps. Once.’
‘Hmm… Ms. Jackson?’ Bonty-kun asks, eyebrows raised.
‘The small one!’
‘Forgive me Ms. Jackson. The Ballarat sun would sear him something terrible. He is just a boy,’ Gawnless replies.
Bonty-kun is becoming desperate. ‘Bloody blast it, Gawnless. We need someone.’
‘There is another of the red-folk, but we couldn’t…’
‘Where? Who is he? Has he pace?’
‘He is lightining’
‘And his skills?’
‘Oh yes’
‘Well? What’s his name? Come on, damn you!’
A hush descends over the room.
‘His name…’ Gawnless pauses, drawing them in. ‘Is Ginja Breadman.’
Bonty-kun and Ms. Jackson exchange a look of triumph. ‘We’ll take him!’
